Mourning

 

There are various stages to mourning: aninut [acute mourning] – from the time of death until after burial; the first three days; the shiva – the first week; the sheloshim – the first thirty days; and in the case of mourning over parents, an entire year. We shall discuss here the meaning of the various rites and prohibitions which together constitute the laws of mourning.

 

A. Aninut [Acute mourning]

 

The Mishna and the Gemara in Berakhot set down the laws of aninut:

 

Someone whose deceased relative lies before him [unburied] eats in a different house … He may not recline to eat, he may not eat meat, he may not drink wine, he may not recite the Grace after meals, he may not recite zimmun [the invitation to join the collective recitation of the Grace after meals], others need not recite a blessing on his behalf, he is not included in the zimmun of others, he is exempt from reciting Shema, from the Amida prayer, from donning tefilin, and from all the mitzvot stated in the Torah. (Berakhot 17b-18a)

 

The Halakhah states that an onen – a person who is in acute mourning - is bound by the negative commandments, but exempt from observing the positive precepts. According to the Yerushalmi Talmud, he is not only exempt from these precepts, but also forbidden to observe them, even if he so desires. What is the rationale for this exemption? The Rishonim disagree about the matter:

 

"He is exempt from reciting Shema" – because he is occupied with his thoughts regarding the burial. He is similar to a bridegroom, who is exempt [from such mitzvot] because of his occupation with the mitzva. (Rashi, Berakhot 17b, s.v. mi shemeto)

 

"He is exempt from reciting Shema" – the Yerushalmi Talmud explains the reason: Rabbi Bon said: It is written: "That  you may remember [the day when you came out of the land of Egypt] all the days of your life" (Devarim 16:3) – on days during which you involve yourself with the living, but not on days during which you involve yourself with the dead. (Tosafot, Berakhot 17b, s.v. patur)

 

According to Rashi, the onen's exemption from mitzvot is based on the well-known principle that anyone already engaged in a mitzva – in this case, the mitzva of burial – is exempt from observing other mitzvot. According to Tosafot, however – following the Yerushalmi Talmud – we are dealing here with a very astonishing halakha: The recitation of Shema (and presumably the rest of the positive precepts as well) were intended to be observed "on days during which you involve yourself with the living," but not "on days during which you involve yourself with the dead." Judaism negates and opposes death to such an extent that one many not engage in God's commandments at the same time that he is involved in death-related matters.

 

     The Rishonim disagree whether or not the mourning laws apply already before burial during the period of aninut. Ramban rules that some of the mourning laws apply already during the time of aninut; Rambam maintains that during the period of aninut none of the laws of mourning are observed:

 

From when is a person obligated in mourning? From the time that the grave is sealed. But as long as the deceased has not been buried, [his relative] is not forbidden in any of the things that are forbidden to a mourner. This is why David washed and anointed himself when the child died before he was buried (II Shemu'el 12:20). (Rambam, Hilkhot Evel 1:2)

 

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik has suggested (Shi'urim Lezekher Abba Mari, II, p. 186) that since an onen is exempt from all the positive precepts, he is also exempt from the obligation to mourn, for that too is a positive precept. In other words, in principle the laws of mourning pertain from the moment of death even before the deceased has been brought to burial. An onen, however, is exempt from all the mitzvot. Therefore, just as he is exempt from the mitzva of reciting Shema, so too is he exempt from the mitzva of mourning.

 

     Here it cannot be argued that the exemption from the mitzva of mourning is based on the principle that anyone already engaged in a mitzva is exempt from observing other mitzvot. For how does the mourner's involvement in the mitzva of burial stand in his way of refraining from washing? But it is also difficult to understand how the principle of "on the days during which you involve yourself with living" pertains to the mitzva of mourning. Surely the mitzva of mourning is wholly connected to death; why then should this mitzva not apply during the period of aninut?

 

We must, therefore, conclude that the mitzva of mourning puts death into a spiritual and emotional framework, providing it with meaning and significance. Judaism, however, wishes that our initial reaction to death be total confusion and utter helplessness. This is true both from a cognitive, as well as an emotional perspective. From a conceptual-philosophical perspective, the rejection of death – which we shall discuss below – finds its fullest expression in the laws of aninut. Death is an abnormal phenomenon, and the immediate reaction to it must involve a total suspension of normal activities. On the emotional and interpersonal level, the laws of mourning help us assimilate death within a frame of reference that is familiar to us. During aninut, Halakha does not want us to digest death, which would allow us to run away from a direct confrontation with it. During the first stage of mourning, we must confront death face to face and in total shock, without anything to ease the encounter.

 

B. death

 

     The Shulchan Arukh summarizes the principal mourning rites of shiva (the first seven days) and sheloshim (the first thirty days):

 

These are things forbidden to a mourner: Work, washing, anointing, wearing shoes, and marital relations. He is forbidden to read the Torah, to greet people, and to do laundry. He is obligated to cover his head and overturn his bed all seven days. He may not don tefilin on the first day. He is forbidden to do fine laundry, cut his hair, participate in a joyous celebration, and mend his rent garment all thirty days. (Shulchan Arukh, YD 380:1)

 

The Gemara offers a more generalized summary of the mourning laws:

 

"Weep not for the dead; neither bemoan him" (Yirmiya 22:10) – Weep not excessively for the dead, neither bemoan him more than in measure. How so? Three days for crying, seven for eulogy, and thirty for fine laundry and hair cutting. From then on, the Holy One, blessed be He, says: "Be not more compassionate than I am." (Mo'ed Katan 27b)

 

On the one hand, the laws of mourning involve affliction and abstention from all forms of rejoicing; on the other hand, they impose clear limits upon the mourner's grief and sorrow. Mourning has enormous psychological value. On the one hand, the mourning laws compel the mourner to give expression to his suffering and even provide him with the framework within which to do so.  On the other hand, Halakha returns him in stages to the world of the living.[1] The psychological profundity of the laws of mourning explains why many secular Jews meticulously observe them and express great interest in fully understanding them (as reported to me by the head of a Chevra Kadisha in Tel Aviv).

 

     These two aspects constitute the conceptual message of the mourning rites: rejection of death and confirmation of this world. There are those who have rejected the religious significance of this world. A radical example of this approach which gives preference to the world-to-come over this world, and venerates death as an opportunity for the elevation of man's soul, may be found in the frightening oration of Elazar ben Ya'ir before the defenders of Masada:

 

From early on, from the day that we [first] acquired understanding, the laws of our Torah, God's Torah, have taught us, and our forefathers have shown us with their deeds and with the greatness of their souls, that the catastrophe facing man is not death, but life. For death sets [our] souls free and sends them off to return to the dwelling-place of purity, which is their home, so that they should grieve no more … Why then should we fear death? … Surely it is the folly of our hearts to pursue freedom in life [= in this world], while our eyes look down upon eternal freedom [in the world-to-come] … We must set an example for others and accept death with love! (Josephus Flavius, The Jewish Wars, 7, 8)

 

It is difficult to extrapolate from here a well thought out world-view. We are dealing with an extreme situation: Elazar ben Ya'ir was trying to persuade his men to commit suicide, and it is only natural that he should emphasize the positive side of death and the negative aspects of life in this world. But his very words, in and of themselves, cause us to shudder, his approach being highly exceptional in Jewish history. The laws of mourning, among other things, teach us otherwise. Thus, for example, writes Radbaz in response to a question whether death should be viewed as good or bad:
 

Question: Regarding one of the leading authorities of the generation who lost a son but did not shed a single tear over him, is this a good trait or not?

Answer: This is an evil trait, demonstrating hardness of the heart and wickedness of the soul; this is the trait of cruelty, the way of the philosophers who claim that this world is merely an illusion. They are diminished by their vanity, their remembrance is like ashes, an abomination is he that chooses them. Therefore, allow not their transgression and their words to seduce you, for they are all based on this assumption. We, however, who have received the Torah should believe and know that this world is a very venerable thing to those who use it properly and act appropriately. It is there that man will attain life in the world-to-come and eternity of the soul. For it is called the world of deeds. … Rather, one should lament, and mourn, and grieve over one's actions, as it is written: "Why then does a living man complain, a man for the punishment of his sins?" (Eikha 3:39) One who cries and mourns and sheds tears over [the deaths of] relatives, and all the more so over a fitting person – this is a trait of the pious, the prophets, and men of deeds. It demonstrates the purity of his soul and the submission of his heart before his Maker. He should lament his sins and grieve over his transgressions, which are the cause. It was not for naught that our Rabbis, of blessed memory, said: "Three days for crying, seven for eulogy, and thirty for fine laundry and hair cutting." If this were improper, they would not have established three days for it. And similarly, it is written about the patriarch Avraham: "To eulogize Sara and weep over her" (Bereishit 23:2). And similarly regarding Ya'akov, and regarding King David, and many others like them, too many to count. (Responsa Radbaz, III, 555)

 

Radbaz points out that the mourning laws mandate grief and sorrow over the passing of a relative, proving thereby that Judaism views life in this world as desirable, and the cessation of such life as fitting cause for bitter mourning. Judaism does not demand of man to rejoice over a relative's passing; on the contrary, there is a mitzva to cry over him, to mourn and to lament. If indeed our world is evil, why then does Judaism require of us to weep over its loss? Surely there is a world-to-come, but we have been sent into this world. God created us to serve Him in this world, while the world-to-come is merely the world of reward, totally void of religious meaning.

 

     One of the clearest proofs of Judaism's attitude to life in this world is the well-known law that the obligation to save a human life supersedes all the commandments of the Torah (with the exception of idolatry, murder and forbidden sexual relations). The Torah's statutes were never intended to deprive a person of life in this world: "'He shall live in them' (Vayikra 18:5) – and not die in them" (Yoma 85b). Judaism attaches such a high value to human life that it allows the Sabbath to be desecrated even for "chayei sha'a" (transient life), that is, in order to save the life of one who will in any event die shortly; the Mishna Berura proves that this applies even to a person on his deathbed.[2]

 

We have been arguing that Judaism emphasizes life in this world and rejects death as a negative development. Many have claimed that the famous dictum of the Tanna Rabbi Ya'akov teaches us otherwise:

 

Rabbi Ya'akov says: This world is like a vestibule before the world-to-come; prepare yourself in the vestibule so that you may be able to enter the banquet hall. (Avot 4:16)

 

At first glance, Rabbi Ya'akov seems to be saying that the world-to-come is preferable to this world, which is nothing but a vestibule. But in order to properly understand what Rabbi Ya'akov is saying, we must first consider what he says in the very next Mishna:

 

He would say: One hour of repentance and good deeds in this world is worth more than the whole life in the world-to-come; and one hour of spiritual bliss in the world-to-come is worth more than the whole life of this world. (ibid., 4:17)

 

Rabbi Ya'akov asserts here that this world is superior to the world-to-come because it is the world in which God is served; only in this world can man observe the commandments and fulfill the demands of his Creator. The world-to-come is preferable in a different respect: it is the world of recompense.[3] Thus, this world is considered a vestibule to the world-to-come only when we look at the two from a narrow egotistical perspective: it is in the world-to-come that the believer will receive his true reward for the mitzvot he performed in this world. Essentially, however, this world is superior, for it is here, and only here, that God may be served and His mitzvot may be fulfilled. "I shall not die, but shall live," proclaims the Psalmist, "and declare the works of the Lord" (Tehilim 118:17). In what way is our world superior to the world of the dead? Why does the Psalmist yearn for life in this world? "For in death there is no remembrance of You; in She'ol who shall give You thanks? (ibid. 6:6); for "the dead cannot praise the Lord, nor can those who go down into silence" (ibid. 115:17).

 

     It must be emphasized that Judaism sides with life in this world not only because this is the place that mitzvot can be fulfilled. This world is more than just a possible framework for the fulfillment of the commandments. The truth is quite the opposite: it is because God desired life in this world that He determined that the mitzvot can only be fulfilled here. Life in this world is pleasing to God. He created the world in order that it should exist in its material mode, and He created us in order that we should live real lives in His world. This is what Ramban writes in his introduction to "Torat ha-Adam":

 

Part of serving God is to engage in worldly affairs, in the perpetuation of the species, for God desires that His creation of us remain forever. (Ramban, introduction to "Torat ha-Adam")

 

God wants us to exist in this world, and therefore He created our world. Ramban also emphasizes our obligation to develop and perpetuate the world, in order to complete the Creator's work.

 

     As we have stated above, Halakha views life in this world as positive and favorable, even apart from the fact that it is only in this world that the mitzvot can be fulfilled. We shall cite a number of proofs to this assertion. Dealing as we are here with the laws of mourning, it seems appropriate to bring a proof from what the Gemara says regarding the laws of rending one's garment. This is how the Gemara explains the obligation to rend one's garment over the dead:

 

One who stands by the deceased when his soul departs must rend his garment. To what may this be compared? To a Torah scroll that was burned. (Mo'ed Katan 25a)

 

Some have suggested in the name of Rashi that the analogy to the burning of a Torah scroll should be understood as follows: We mourn the death of a person because he can no longer study Torah (Tur, YD 340).[4] In other words, the obligation that falls upon a person to rend his garment if he was present at the moment that another person gave up his soul stems exclusively from the fact that the deceased can no longer involve himself in Torah study; it is not because life in this world in and of itself is positive and favorable. The Rashi printed in the standard editions of the Talmud, however, explains the analogy differently: "For the Torah is called a candle … and the soul is called a candle" (Rashi, Mo'ed Katan 25a, s.v. lesefer Torah). Ramban explained the matter in similar fashion:

 

For the soul found in [man's] body is like the names of God found on the parchment [of a Torah scroll]. This is merely an analogy, which comes to teach [us] that [a person's death] involves a great loss and great fright. (Ramban, Torat ha-Adam, p. 51)

 

In other words, in addition to the fact that it is only man's existence in this world that makes the observance of God's mitzvot possible, our life in this world has independent value, unconnected to the fulfillment of the mitzvot, and it is the cessation of this life that we mourn.

 

Another proof: We have already mentioned that one may desecrate the Shabbat in order to save the life of another person, even if that other person will in any event die shortly and, thus, never again be able to fulfill the mitzva of Shabbat. If we consider the "balance sheet" of mitzva observance, we see that nothing will be gained by saving him. Nonetheless, we are commanded to desecrate Shabbat in order to save him (see note 2).

 

c. Mysticism or psychology

 

By its very nature, a topic like mourning is enshrouded in mysticism. When it comes to matters of death and mourning, even people who are entirely rational in all other aspects of their lives, and even people who are outright secular in outlook, often harbor mystical ideas. Remnants of such ideas are also found in the world of Halakha.

 

A mourner, during the first three days, is forbidden to engage in work, even if he is a pauper supported by charity. From then on, if he is poor and has nothing to eat, he may do work in the privacy of his own house. (Tur, YD 380)

 

The reason that they were more stringent regarding the first three days is explained in the Yerushalmi Talmud [as follows]: Because for three days the soul hovers over the body … And Rabbenu Yerucham wrote in the name of Ra'avad: Because Chazal said three days for weeping, and if he engages in work, he will be lax about crying. (Perisha, ad loc.)

 

Two different approaches to the stringency applying during the first three days of mourning are presented here: Does the stringency flow naturally from internal halakhic reasoning, or is this an instance where mystical ideas have intermingled?

 

     There is an important law regarding mourning which strongly suggests that the mourning laws should not be interpreted as stemming from mystical concepts. We refer here to the laws governing the delayed news of death:

 

If someone received news that a relative of his had died – if the news arrived within thirty days [of the day of death], even on the thirtieth day itself, this is a brief delay, and he must observe seven days of mourning from the day that the news arrived. He rends his garment and counts thirty days for the prohibition against cutting his hair and other matters. The general rule is: The day on which the news arrived in the case of a brief delay is considered like the day of burial. (Rambam, Hilkhot Evel 7:1)

 

From a mystical perspective, the significant facts are death and burial. Only if we speak in purely halakhic terms can we understand why it is the day of hearing the news that obligates mourning, and not the day of burial or the day of death. The mourning laws are anchored in deep psychological principles, as we have explained, and so the significant point in time is the day on which the news arrived, and not the day on which some mystical event took place.

 

It should be emphasized that we are not dealing here with "compensation" for missed mourning, but rather with primary mourning itself. A person does not acquire the status of "mourner" until he becomes aware of the death of his relative. This is clearly implicit in a different law as well:

 

If a person was unaware that a relative of his had died, there is no obligation to inform him, not even if the deceased was the person's father or mother. It has been said of this: "He who utters a slander is a fool" (Mishlei 10:18). It is permissible to invite him to a wedding feast or to any other joyous occasion, since he does not know. (Shulchan Arukh YD 402:12)

 

This ruling, originating among the Ashkenazic posekim, will not surprise anyone familiar with Polish culture. There is, nevertheless, one exceptional element: Why is it permissible to invite such a person to a celebratory meal? May one invite a person to participate in a meal where non-kosher food will be served, as long as the guest remains unaware of what he is eating? This halakha forces us to the conclusion that the laws of mourning do not apply to a person until he has received the news of his relative's death. The mourning practices observed in a case of delayed notification do not "compensate" for the mourner's not having observed the rites of mourning when he did not know yet that he was a mourner; on the contrary, before he received the notification, he was not yet considered a mourner. Receiving the news is what activates the period of mourning. Magic and mysticism are pushed aside here by psychology.

 

footnotes

 

[1] The psychological aspect of the mourning laws finds expression in the rule that in matters of mourning, the Halakha follows the more lenient position (Mo'ed Katan 26b).

 

[2] See Shulchan Arukh OC 329:4, and Be'ur Halakha ad loc., s.v. ela lefi sha'a.

 

[3] Rabbi Ya'akov is consistent with his own position stated elsewhere that the reward for keeping the mitzvot will not be paid in this world, but only in the world-to-come; see Kiddushin 39b; Yerushalmi, Chagiga 2:1.

 

[4] Similarly, in Rashi on Rif, Mo'ed Katan 15a in Alfasi.

 

(Translated by Rav David Strauss)